Just Look At Me!
by SaiFy
Summary: She intrigued him, and it was annoying. Rated T for now, may go up later. Velsea main pairing, other pairings kept the same as in the game. IOH vers.
1. Chapter 1

Vaughn cursed his own carelessness for the tenth time that morning.

It was around 7o'clock that the whole ordeal began. Vaughn had woken only an hour previously to eat a hearty breakfast of porridge and begin his daily rounds of work for that day. It was a beautiful Thursday, not a cloud in the sky, and Vaughn had chuckled to himself bitterly when he'd seen today's weather. The Island of Happiness really lived up to its name. It was only his fifth week of coming here and he already hated it with every fiber of his being. The people were too cheery and talkative, the weather was too sunshiney and peppy...just the opposite what he was and wanted. Vaughn was a spiteful, angry man who only cared for his work and loved to take walks in the rain. The solitude the rain brought him, due to the fact that everyone else was too concerned about getting wet to go out, was a rarity in the city that he fully exploited when it came along. He glared at anyone who dared speak his name, and cursed anyone who pursued his company and distracted him from his job. When it came to his job, he really prided himself on the quality of the work he did and didn't allow anything to distract him from it.

So when he accidently let one chicken out of his sight to feed the others and it escaped from its coop, he was completely beside himself. The chicken had managed to make it out the coop door and had proceeded to run, a free-spirit, to god knows where. He had quickly finished up in the coop and ran out after it, hoping to catch it before it made it too far, but his hopes were squashed. The chicken was nowhere in sight. He wanted to pout and curse and stomp his brown cowboy boots at the outrage and unfairness of it all, but no, Vaughn was a grown man who would never lower himself to such a childish display. Instead of doing any of those things he'd quickly gone on a chicken hunt around the main land, figuring that a chicken would probably avoid water and would definitely not make it to the other areas so quickly. He had searched high and low around East town, the beach, and even the ranch. He had been surprised to see that the ranch had, since his last visit, been cleared and seemed to be occupied. But he hadn't lingered; he hated people anyway, and if they were important he'd be meeting them later. He had other business to attend to at the moment.

Unless he missed a spot, which he doubted, the chicken had to be in West town.

Grumbling under his breath, and cursing every god that had ever been theorized to exist, Vaughn had quickly retraced his steps past the animal shop and quickly made his way to West town. He expected there to be quite a bit of work ahead of him. West Town was a fairly large space, and though there were barely any places to hide there was also lots of brush towards the jungle. He was only thankful that the bridge to jungle had yet to be rebuilt- if the chicken had gotten over there it would have gotten eaten faster than he could blink.

Sighing and rubbing his temple, he crossed the threshold between East and West town. As his eyes did a quick scan of the open spaces, he noticed a girl sitting towards the meadow with her feet dangling over the side of the small river that separated the meadow from the town. Her feet were in the water and her little red boots were set neatly beside her. Long chestnut colored hair fell down her back and over an orange shirt, which fell down to a pair of denim jean shorts. He could see the edge of a yellow shirt underneath the orange, and over her brown hair there was a red bandana which tied in the back with a small knot. She seemed to be bothering something in her hands but he quickly drew his eyes off her to begin searching for the chicken. He'd never seen her before and didn't care to introduce himself.

After doing a full search, avidly avoiding the girl in fear that she'd try and talk to him, he came up empty. Sighing, he relented himself to the one thing he'd wanted to avoid- Striking up conversation with her. He figured that maybe she'd seen the chicken. He'd get the information and leave.

Acting before he could change his mind, he began walking towards her. He was coming up from behind her and hoped desperately that she'd hear him so that he wouldn't have to call out to her. If he didn't know her name, she'd try and give him it, affectively causing him to give her his out of courtesy (he was simply unable to be anything but a gentleman to smaller women, and boy did she look small as hell) and beginning a long spiel about what he did and why she was here. As he neared closer he could smell milk and honey on the breeze that flowed past her, and he found himself fond of the scent to his own horror. He really hoped she was eating milk or honey so that he could justify himself. He didn't want to think that she herself had smelled pleasant.

When he finally reached her, it seemed she hadn't noticed him. To his dismay he was forced to lean down and tap her shoulder, as he was a fairly tall man and not only was she even smaller than he expected but she was seated on the ground. She jolted at his touch, and much to his surprise her feminine yelp was also accompanied by the rather loud cluck of a surprised chicken. Instantly he regretted not talking to her sooner because looking down, he could see a chicken nestled comfortably in her lap as she lazily stroked its feathers. She turned her to look at him and for a moment he was nailed to his spot, unable to speak.

She had the biggest set of stormy blue eyes he'd ever seen. They were a beautiful, clear, blue grey that reminded him of rain in the summer. Her eye lashes were long and graceful, brushing her cheeks when she blinked. Her bangs fell from under her bandana and framed her heart-shaped face just right. Her plump, pink lips were parted, startled, and her cheeks had a slightly embarrassed blush coloring them. There was a smudge of dirt just under her right eye that he was strangely appreciative of, idly thinking that it was endearing and a sign that the girl valued hard work over vanity. He also noticed that her little red boots were muddy, and her clothes were covered in dirty smudges and handprints.

_She wasn't holding any milk or honey_. Just a dirty chicken that he knew wasn't hers.

Quickly she regained herself, shaking her head visibly to calm herself. He was quickly pulled out of his trance like state by the action and pulled his black Stetson further over his head, holding his hand out in a demanding manner.

"That's my chicken." He said quickly, looking away from her. He suddenly found it hard to meet her eyes, something that had never happened to him before with anybody. Watching her from the corner of his eyes he saw her glance down at the chicken and stroke it affectionately, a sad look in her eyes. With a frown she picked it up and held it out to him, twisting around at an awkward angle being it that he was directly behind her. Finally forcing himself to meet her eyes, to thank her, he was surprised by the sadness and longing he saw there.

"Oh...sorry. Didn't know this chicken belonged to anyone. Here, take her. And...be careful with her, she's a bit fussy." The girl, woman, said with a dull tone. Vaughn suddenly felt a strange guilt in his stomach for taking the chicken from her hands but didn't allow himself to let her keep the animal. He was surprised she didn't ask his name, or question him on the truth of his words. She hadn't even given him her name, either.

Vaughn forced himself to pretend he didn't care about her name. In reality he was curious, and a bit hurt, that she didn't seem to care about his name or bother giving her own. She just seemed not to care about anything but the chicken. It reminded him of himself, in a way.

Quickly turning on the heel of his boots he stormed away, suddenly feeling angry. For whatever reason, she...intrigued him. And that was annoying.

Before crossing the border between East and West Town he looked back at where the girl was sat. She had her back to him and her hair was blowing in a slight breeze. He imagined that the air blowing past her would smell like milk and honey. Her hands which had been previously holding the chicken in his arms were now on the ground behind her pulling at the long grass almost angrily, nervously even. Her shoulders shook from what he hoped was laughter but knew fairly well was crying.

_She didn't look back at him._


	2. Chapter 2

Chelsea was scared.

For the first time in her short 20 years of life, she really just did not know what to do with herself. She had nobody. Her parents had very forcefully thrown her out of her home...if she could even have called it that. She'd only been able to bring three changes of clothes, 2000G, and her secret painting supplies she'd hidden from her parents. That's all she had. Her parents didn't care where she went or if she was okay. They never had. That alone was enough to scare her and upset her. But now she had this farm to run all by herself with only a few pointers to go on from Taro.

This was not where she expected to end up when she boarded the ferry. Well, she had expected to end up on this island, but she hadn't ever imagined that as soon as she'd arrived she'd be stuck on a farm all by herself with only a few thousand G and a prayer. Island of Happiness, her ass! In all honestly she wanted to give up the farm already. It wasn't that she didn't want it- as a matter of fact, had she brought more money and had someone with her, she couldn't have dreamed of any other job she'd want more. She'd always loved the feel of warm dirt, watching plants grow, and taking care of animals. It was all she ever wanted and more.

_But in her state she just couldn't do it._

The hours were long and tedious. The work was hugely physical, and took more stamina than she had in her. She had little muscle because her parents had kept her inside, sheltered from the world so that nobody would see her bruises and scars from their years of abuse. And to top it all off, she was simply mentally tired as it was. She was just...sick. Of everything. She was just done. Everyone here, especially the girls her age, seemed to immediately hate her. They said she was too quiet, too depressing, too boring to be around and made fun of her behind her back. They'd say she was ugly and bland and with all her scars she looked like a war survivor. Completely the opposite of beautiful and feminine. Soon after they had begun to talk of her scars she had dug up a cheap outfit at Chens (which cost about 500G, leaving her with only 500G to run her farm with seeing as she'd spent another 1000G on the ferry ticket to get to the island) that covered the more obvious scars which littered her arms, and started to go outside less. The only scar that was visible now was the one under her eye, which she would cover with a smudge of mud from her field everyday to hide.

Had she less resolve to help the people of this island, she'd have up and left by now simply because she hadn't any friends at all. Not even Sabrina seemed to tolerate her. Yet, the people here counted on her to run the farm and bring the island back to its former glory. Maybe if she could just stick it out, it'd get better? It might even be worth it!

Chelsea laughed to herself when she thought such a thing. She always was such an optimist, even now when things were the toughest they'd ever been.

She wondered idly how long it had been that she'd been sitting there with her feet in the water. Yesterday it had rained fairly well, enough to last her crops two days, and she hadn't enough money to rebuild the coop or animal barn on her farm so today she didn't have any work to do. So, she'd come here to think and let it all out. So submersed in her work, she hadn't even given herself the time to be sad. And as she sat there, she could feel all the dark thoughts settling into her like the weight of the world was threatening to crush her. The only joy she had at the moment sat in her lap- the little white hen she'd found wandering around. The chicken had actually found her, really. She'd just been sitting there crying pathetically when she'd heard a cluck from beside her, and looking down saw the creature looking up at her with beady black eyes. Just looking at the cute little hen had made her tears stop. So she'd quickly scooped it up into her arms without thinking of how it'd react. Luckily, it had nuzzled further into her lap and crooned its head a bit to rub against her hand.

Looking down at the creature, she surmised that had been about half an hour ago. Yet, the chicken still sat just as still as before, clucking merrily as she ran her hands lazily through its dirty white feathers. While she hadn't been a farmer for long, she had always read about animals as a child and could tell that this chicken was either a smaller breed or the runt of the flock. It reminded her of herself, in a way. Small and vulnerable. Nowhere to go and no company. Perhaps it had seen her here, crying like a baby, and sought to comfort her because they were kindred spirits?

_She had been so lost in her own silly thoughts she hadn't heard the steady, purposeful clack of boots nearing closer to her from behind._

So when she felt a tap on her shoulder, her mind blanked. She jumped, scared, and turned quickly to see what had touched her so roughly. Whoever or whatever they were hadn't been happy, if her aching shoulder was any proof. She expected a large, scary, angry man to be before her. So she was surprised by what she saw.

The man before her had shaggy silver hair, like the color of starlight or the light of the moon she liked to watch on her sleepless nights. His eyes stared down at her with a deep intensity, the color of amethyst gems. He had a defined nose and strong jaw, the picture of what a man was meant to look like. He was beautiful, yet carried an air of masculinity as well. He wore black and brown cowboy get up and she forced herself not to smile at the hat over his head. She'd always loved cowboy hats.

Suddenly, realizing she was staring and a bit confused by the fact that he was simply staring back with a shocked face, she physically shook her thoughts away. This seemed to snap the man out of his reverie as well, and he glared darkly down at her. Immediately she felt the sad thoughts from before weighing down on her. Even he, someone she'd never meet, didn't want her around. He'd even gone out of his way to come and glare at her when she'd been doing nothing wrong. She watched as he pulled his hat further over his face, covering his beautiful eyes and stuck out his hand rather roughly, almost hitting her with it.

"That's my chicken." he said in a deep and gruff voice, motioning towards the animal cradled against her. She wanted to scream and pout and cry. That chicken was the only thing keeping her from bawling her eyes out. But she knew that she couldn't just keep what wasn't hers. Not if she ever wanted people to like her. So she just relented herself to stroking it a few more times before picking it up gently and twisting around to hand it to him.

"Oh...sorry. Didn't know this chicken belonged to anyone. Here, take her. And...be careful with her, she's a bit fussy." she'd lied quietly, trying to keep the tremor she was feeling in her body out of her voice. She wanted him to hurry up and leave so she could cry in peace. She didn't let people see her cry. The cowboy took the chicken from her arms and looked down at her for a few seconds with a peculiar look on his face. He looked almost sad and she wasn't sure why. But quickly he scowled, his eyes angry and fierce, and turned on the heel of his cowboy boots to stomp away from her.

She was instantly sadder than before. She had been so careless, accepting an animal into her arms that didn't belong to her. She got attached to it and naively believed that it could help her with her problems. And now the angry, mean cowboy had taken her only comfort away. Moreover, she felt even worse than before because he hadn't even bothered and given her his name.

She tried to fight the tears but they came inevitably. She wondered why she even bothered to try and stop them. She could feel her shoulders shaking from the sobs that threatened to escape her throat, and was sure that if anybody looked they would know she was crying, but she made no move to get up from her spot and return to the farm. Her best chances of not being spotted were to stay there, with her back to the town, and ride out the pain she felt in her heart. She wondered, somewhere inside her pain filled mind, whether or not the cowboy had ever looked back and saw she was crying. If he did, would he care? She sighed.

_Why would he bother to look back at someone as bland, pathetic, and annoying as her?_


	3. Chapter 3

Vaughn sighed irritably as he walked off of the ship and onto the pier. All week, nonstop, he had thought of nothing but stormy blue eyes and red bandanas. He didn't understand why, but he just couldn't get her out of his head. It was infuriating! He'd even messed up at work and accidently delivered the wrong horse to the farm in Forget-Me-Not. His boss had been lenient, seeing as Vaughn had worked for years without a single flaw, but Vaughn was particularly hard on himself for screwing up and letting his mind wander. Never in his 24 years of life had Vaughn ever been so confused and irritated! Vaughn growled under his breath as he kicked the door to the animal shop open with his brown boot. He didn't even know this girl's name, so why was his mind so fixated on her? He couldn't comprehend in the slightest.

_A girl, of all things!?_

He vowed to himself that if he ever saw that girl again he'd avoid contact as much as possible. Even eye contact would be a fatal mistake. But what if she tried to talk to him? He couldn't just pretend he didn't hear her, that wouldn't work for long. And he couldn't just ignore her completely. Maybe he'd send her his famous glare, the especially nasty one, and tell her off? Then she'd never speak to him again. That was just what he needed, right?

_So why did his heart ache at the thought of it?_

Vaughn continued his cycle of huffing and puffing angrily as he got to work transporting feed bags to the back of the shop. He forced himself to become one with his work, banishing all thoughts of silky looking chestnut hair that looked almost auburn red in the sunlight. And kissable pink lips. And sad, stormy blue eyes that made his soul cry out. And a cute pair of little red rain boots that for some reason made his arms twitch with the need to wrap her up tight to his chest and just...

"Goddamnit!" he growled angrily, throwing a bag of feed rather harshly into a pile with the rest. He snatched his hat off his head with a little extra force than necessary and ran a hand through his soft starlight locks. He could feel the small blush on his cheeks that he'd kill to be rid of and could hear his heart beat fast in his chest. He didn't understand this feeling, and it pissed him off as well as made him feel a strange happiness. Mostly though, it annoyed him. It annoyed him to no end and he'd do anything to get rid of it or at least put a name to it so he could verify to himself just what it was he felt.

He walked to the front of the shop, where Mirabelle sat working behind a counter, and sat on the feed bags which were stacked against the wall, waiting to be moved to the back. Which was _his_ job. But right then, he couldn't very well focus on what he was doing. His heart beat at an awkward, fast tempo which had slightly slowed but still thundered stubbornly like a drum. His cheeks still felt warm and every time- every damn time- he closed his eyes all he could see was her face, and he could swear he smelled milk and honey in the air. He had let out a large breath of air in attempt to steady himself for work when he felt a cool hand on his forehead, pushing his fringe from his face. He immediately spluttered and ducked away, looking up at his attacker. He felt instant relief at the view of baby blue eyes, too bright to be that girl's.

"Vaughn, sweetie? Your face is red, are you coming down with something?" Mirabelle asked him in her sweet southern voice. His face immediately felt a bit warmer than before and he ran a hand down his face, weighing his options. He could tell her he was fine, which she wouldn't believe, he could tell her he was sick and end up being forced to lie down. He figured he should go with the first, because while she wouldn't believe him she probably knew by now to let it be if he didn't want to talk about it.

"I'm fine. I better hurry up and get these feed bags to the back." He said quickly, standing from his seat and hefting the heavy feed bags onto his shoulders, two to a shoulder. Mirabelle shot him a disbelieving look before shaking her head slightly with a smile and going back to her spot behind the counter.

"Alright, dear. Just don't overwork yourself, now!" she replied, her motherly instincts kicking in. He chuckled to himself at that, sauntering his way to the back of the shop and continuing in his work. Soon all the feed bags were safely stored at the back of the shop, which meant all he had left to do was care for the few animals the store kept and he'd be done for the day. Because the farm had just started up, they didn't have many animals at the shop being it that it'd be awhile before that damn farmer would be buying animals.

And just like that, his thoughts were back to her. It seemed that no matter what he did, it reminded him of her. The horse reminded him of her because of its beautiful chestnut brown coat. The chickens reminded him of her because of the circumstances of their first meeting. Even one of the cows reminded him of her because of its curious blue eyes. Finally after only about an hour he was done caring for the animals, his face having turned red halfway through and never returning to its original pale, ivory color. It seemed that every time he began to cool off something else was there to put her back in his mind.

_At this rate, he reckoned he'd be insane by the end of the day._

Sighing (he realized he seemed to be doing a lot of that lately- more than usual which was saying something), he made his way out of the barn and into the front of the shop, shuffling his way past Mirabelle and flopping down on the couch in the small living room type area just off the shop. **[A/N: If I remember correctly there isn't actually a living room in the game, just a kitchen with beds in it and the shop. Hell, there isn't even a "back of the shop." But just go with it because in real life I don't think you can run an animal shop without anywhere to keep the inventory or animals. And doesn't everyone have a living room of sorts?]**

Vaughn sighed, kicking his feet up onto the small coffee table in front of the couch and tilting his head back. He tipped his hat especially low on his face, covering almost all of it, so that he could maybe take a quick nap. By now it was around 10o'clock in the morning, certainly not late enough to justify a nap, but the ferry ride had been rough because the animals were feeling fussy (which meant most likely there'd be a storm today or tomorrow, maybe even a bad one like the islands often got), not to mention the confusion he was feeling towards, well, his feelings. He didn't realize how tired he was 'till his butt hit the couch. But just as he was about to drift off into sleep, he heard the cowbell on the door of the shop ring. Tilting his hat up off of his eyes to peek at who had entered the shop, he immediately wished he had stayed in the barn.

To his dismay, in walked the very person he wanted to forget. Her long chestnut hair looked just as soft and sleek as before. Her eyes were still as deep blue as the ocean. And under her eye was that same smudge of dirt. That struck him as strange, but he guessed it wasn't impossible that dirt was in the very same place as before. Maybe she touched that part of her face a lot while she worked? He watched her as she walked in slowly, nervously, her feet careful and precise as if she feared one wrong step would send her crashing through the floor. Finally she had made her way up to the counter where Mirabelle stood and he saw her fiddle with her hands as a nervous blush came to her face, her eyes looking anywhere into Mirabelle's. He wanted to laugh at this; Mirabelle was certainly not a scary person to talk to. He strained his ears to hear what they were saying and he just barely caught the girl's voice, as she spoke in a quiet and scared tone.

"U-uh, good morning Miss Mirabelle. I-I..I was wondering if it'd be alright if I, uh, if I went and visited your animals. P-Please? I mean, if it's not too much to a-ask! You can say no if you want and, and I'll just leave if you say no, okay?" she said, slowly getting louder until at the end her voice cracked and she looked with a sudden interest down at her little red rain boots. Vaughn wondered to himself why she seemed to timid and terrified talking to someone like Mirabelle. Surely, Mirabelle wouldn't say no. Mirabelle loved it when Julia's little friend Lanna visited the sheep. And she didn't say no when that Natalie girl asked to play with the chickens, which spoke volumes simply because Natalie was far from gentle and quiet.

So Vaughn was surprised by what he heard next, to say the least.

"I'm afraid not, Chelsea. Unless you're looking to buy an animal, which I know you can't because you haven't got a barn or a coop, I can't let you do that. We don't let people in there willy-nilly, you know." Mirabelle said in a voice which was far from her usually sweet, motherly tone. So Chelsea was her name, huh? Even from another room Vaughn could see the scowl on Mirabelle's face. Chelsea seemed to physically deflate at this, a sight that made Vaughn's heart ache and his teeth grind, and she turned to leave.

"I see. Sorry to waste your time. I'll just go." She said quietly, sadly, and exited the shop. Vaughn's legs burned with the need to take him to her, pull her back in here and demand for Mirabelle to explain herself. She had lied right through her teeth!

But Vaughn forced himself not to. After all, he had to avoid contact with her. It was for the best that he wasn't nice to her, no matter how much he wanted to be. Besides, maybe Mirabelle had a reason to say no? Maybe this Chelsea girl was some animal killer or something? Or maybe she had done something to make Mirabelle dislike her?

"Yeah, that's gotta be it. She's probably a bad person. It must be her own fault she got told no." He muttered to himself, tipping his hat back over his face and relaxing back into the couch. For some reason, the couch suddenly felt lumpy and cramped. And he couldn't understand why he suddenly felt fidgety and just plain upset and uncomfortable. But the more he thought about it, the more it made sense to him. He remembered the sad look in Chelsea's eyes as she left, becoming a darker stormy blue than before. He remembered the genuine disappointment, as well as a look that told him that maybe she'd expected to be told no. He remembered the bone weary frown on her perfect pink lips and her slumped, skinny shoulders.

_The more he thought about it, the less he was able to believe that it was Chelsea's fault._


	4. Chapter 4

For the thousandth time that night, he turned sleeplessly in his bed.

For the life of him, Vaughn could not seem to find a comfortable position that lasted long enough for him to drift off into sleep. And every time he did seem to find a position suitable enough, he'd close his eyes in hope of sleep catching up to him only to see the day's events replay behind his eyelids like a mantra. Almost as if demanding his undivided attention. Then he'd remember the way he'd just sat back, rolled over, and allowed the girl to leave the shop despite wanting to talk to her. He'd done so out of cowardice, and allowed himself to believe that it was for the best. Finally he'd remember her features as she'd left; slumped shoulders, dragging feet, quivering lips, and blank, sad eyes.

_And suddenly, he wasn't so comfortable anymore._

Resigning himself to face the facts, he realized that for the first time in a long time he was feeling guilt. It was rare that he ever felt bad about his actions, and even rarer that he regretted the actions he failed to take. So he allowed himself some comfort in the fact that it was natural for him to not have recognized the feeling in his gut, and even forgave himself for not following his heart and defending the girl. Still, it didn't dull the ache of failure and disappointment in himself. He didn't feel strongly for much, and he didn't have many morals, but defending the weak was something he really believed in. So having failed to do so left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Sighing, he ripped the blankets off of his body and rolled out of bed. Checking the alarm clock on his nightstand, he realized with hardly restrained bitterness that it was almost 3AM and that he probably would be running on empty all day. Crossing to the other side of the room he grabbed his favorite brown cowboy boots, leaving his vest and hat behind in his hurry to leave and find somewhere to clear his head outside of the house. As he crept out of his room, the third door down the hall and right beside Julia's, he made sure to avoid the squeaky floorboards that he'd by now memorized for situations like this. Finally at the door he pulled it open slowly, praying it didn't squeak. When it didn't, to his luck, he quickly stepped out into the cool night before pulling it closed gently but quickly behind him. Inwardly celebrating his success at sneaking away unnoticed, he began his slow walk towards the beach. In his few weeks working at the island he'd come to favor two places when he needed to think; the beach and the forest. Normally he preferred the forest over the beach, for in it resided a small pack of wild dogs he'd come to befriend, but the forest was a dangerous place at night; littered with hungry, more dangerous animals.

As he walked, the moon cast a soft glow over the path he followed and bounced off of his hair in little silver rays. Absently he ran a hand through his hair, soft and silky locks passing between his fingers, and thought to himself that he was a lot like the night. He was cold, calm, dark, and dangerous.

_But mostly, he thought that they were the same in their silent loneliness._

This thought having crossed his mind, he shook his head to clear it away. It was thoughts like that which got him into trouble. It was thoughts like that which made him crave even the silent comfort of a warm, human presence. It was times like these in the past, where he allowed himself to let others in, that he was most vulnerable; most easy to hurt. Like a snail inside his shell he was safest staying there, but that didn't mean he didn't crave the sunlight on his skin or the fresh air of the outside world. He wouldn't deny that he wished for someone by his side; someone to talk to, someone to embrace, someone to share things with. But that didn't mean he liked to think about it, or indulge in his childish longings.

_After all, humans were all the same. Cruel, thoughtless, and oblivious to the truth. _

Reaching the beach, he quietly made his way towards the large seaweed rock that sat quietly waiting for him. His eyes trained on the calm sea, smelling of salt and fish, and he allowed himself to smile only slightly. The sound of the tide was like a lullaby to him, reminding him of his travels across the world and the soft voice of his mother. It wasn't often that he thought of her, with her deep amethyst eyes like the night ocean and her soft smell of sea salt as she loved to take walks on the beach, but when he did think of her the strongest memory he recalled was of her voice. She had an excited yet soft, hushed voice as if she always had secrets to tell when she spoke. Like if you only listened close enough, you'd acquire the knowledge of times past and times to come. Lost in his reverie with his eyes trained in the distance, he didn't notice the other presence lying in the sand of the very spot he wished to occupy.

_Though, it was hard not to notice when his boot caught on the person's side and he was sent lurching forward, collapsing into the sand with a soft thud._

Confused and disoriented he groaned in pain, peeling open his eyes which he'd closed to shield from any stray sand the fall would kick up. As his vision cleared he sat himself up and held a hand to his forehead while looking around angrily for the thing that'd tripped him. Looking to his left, however, he was frozen in time.

Because there, sitting up with scared and confused blue doe-eyes, was the very girl he'd come here to clear his mind of. Her bandana was missing from her head (tied around her neck much like his, he later observed) and the smudge of dirt he'd become accustomed to seeing under her eye was replaced by a pale, deep scar stretching from the corner of her eye to the middle of her cheek bone. Her usual yellow and orange shirt ensemble was replaced by a simple white tank top, revealing an array of deep pale and pink scars weaving up her arms, past her shoulders, and most likely onto her back. In the moonlight her hair shone a pale brown, pulled into a high pony tail, and danced on the occasional sea-breeze wind with a few bangs falling into her eyes unrestrained by her bandana that he'd never seen leave her head before now. She looked even more stunning than before in this natural state, like she was created from earth. He liked this version of her better; exposed and flawed. He liked her better when she looked positively human- in every sense of the word. After a long lapse of silence, both staring at each other as if searching for an answer to some unspoken question, she frowned and looked away from him while standing. He looked up at her, confused, but she simply returned his gaze with an apologetic and sad smile.

"I-I can see I must've stolen y-your spot. I-I'll go, I'm sure y-you'd prefer it that way." She mumbled quietly, as softly as a whisper of wind kicking up fall leaves, and turned as if to leave. Suddenly Vaughn felt every emotion he'd felt before coming here; the guilt, the regret, the deep seeded and painful longing that he couldn't comprehend. And so without thought, regardless of what he'd usually be known to do, he reached up and softly gripped her wrist. As his thumb brushed the underside of her thin wrist he could feel the raised edges of a multitude of straight, consecutive scars that he didn't need to think long about to truly comprehend. Of course like any human, even himself, she was marred by self-inflicted flaws (some physical, some mental) and he wasn't about to call her out on them. If anything, he wished to be the reason no more scars appeared on those soft, ivory junctions between hand and arm.

"Stay." He said bluntly in his usual gruff tone, gently tugging her down. He was not a man of intricate wording or eloquent speech, but then again she didn't seem to expect him to be. She honestly looked surprised he'd spoken at all and that sent a writhing, searing, electric bolt of anguish down deep inside where the light didn't touch. She seemed to expect him to just sit there and watch her go even as he could see an angry, dark, looming danger in her eyes; as if she was broken glass on the floor and he was going to gracefully step around her so as to not cut himself. It hurt him at an unfathomably deep depth and he wasn't sure he liked that she could hurt him so. She reluctantly complied and plopped herself back down in the soft white sand behind him, pulling her wrist away from his grasp and wrapping her arms around her knees which she'd brought to her chest. An act of self protection, of distrust; a wall between him and the red, raw, meaty bits of her soul that she didn't show the universe.

_Another jab of that same guilt and that same deep pain raced down his spine_.

They were silent for a long while, the only sound between the two of them the tide crashing on the shore, before the silence suddenly became too heavy for him to bare. It was like a shadow closing in, closer and closer to where the two sat under hazy moonlight rays, and he'd be damned if he let it get too close.

"It's dangerous for a woman to be out alone this late at night." He told her, peering over at her with genuinely curious purple orbs. He'd at first opened his mouth to say nonsense, anything to rid them of the awkward and thick silence that blanketed them a bit too tightly to be comforting, and yet halfway through the words it had come to him so easy. The questions he wanted to ask, just beyond his realm of accepting and consciousness, had so easily slipped from his lips that he was scared of the next silly little thought that would tumble from his throat. That one simple sentence, seemingly innocent and harmless, hid every wondering he had inside of him and she seemed to notice. He saw a distant look come into her eyes, as if remembering something just beyond her grasp, and she sighed before clutching her ivory legs closer to her beating heart. He frowned.

"I...had a nightmare. C-Couldn't sleep after that, and needed somewhere to think. A-and you?" she asked, obviously trying to divert the topic of discussion away from just what her nightmare had been about. He could respect that, he knew from experience the impending anxiety and trapped feeling of being asked a question you didn't want to answer, and decided to answer her question instead of pressing her for further detail about her unconscious fears.

"Couldn't even sleep to begin with. Say, Chelsea was it?" he asked and she nodded, "Chelsea, then. Name's Vaughn. Never gave it to you... you know, before. Was in a bad mood. Sorry...I guess." He mumbled, holding out his gloveless hand for her to shake as if to seal her acceptance of his apology whilst refusing to meet her questioning, impossibly blue eyes. He tasted each syllable, each vowel, each consonant of her name as it pushed from his vocal chords and out past his teeth, and it was sweet on his lips. He liked it. He'd remember to speak her name often, and never abbreviate it to the nickname of 'Chels'." It was a selfish pleasure, speaking her name and tasting its sweet taste like honey just past his tongue, but one he'd certainly remember to indulge in. To his surprise she chuckled and smiled, a bright smile that lit up her usually stormy eyes, and took his hand in hers gently. As he looked into those blue eyes he'd only now realized he'd become fond of, they were different in a small yet infinitely big respect in comparison to the way they normally looked. They were bright, vibrant, and as full of life as the spring sky on a warm day. He bit down a blush at the feel of her warm, smooth hand in his rough and calloused cold one.

"Right. Sort-of-apology accepted, Vaughn." she said with a light, joking tone. The way his name breezed past her lips, tumbling from them like a second nature, had his heart wild in his chest like a rampaging bull as he pulled his hand from hers. She spoke his name as if they weren't strangers, as if not only hours ago he'd let her down in a way that he'd never remember to forgive himself for. After a few moments of more silence, this time a light and content sort of silence, he could see a soft smile on her face and a light glow in her cheeks as her bootless and sockless toes curled and uncurled in the warm sand. He only then noticed that she was without shoes and that around her right ankle a little yellow anklet loosely hung. She suddenly had a childlike and warm aura about her that was intoxicating and magnetic, a far cry from the sad and helpless aura she normally gave off. It was like drowning in pungent, dandelion sunshine. Lasting and lingering like the smell of fresh cut, sun soaked grass. Her stutter even seemed to disappear into thin air, a helium filled balloon accidently set free from a small child's hand to float up and away. Vaughn was determined to keep her this way as often as he could, if only for the selfish reason of enjoying the warm feeling she gave him. It was easy with her; so easy yet so, so frightening in that it had never been this easy before with anyone.

_He never really had the chance to be a child before, had he?_

And so for the next three hours the two of them sat just like that, companionable silence only disrupted by an occasional comment or question about each other, until the sun began to rise. Just as the sun began to peek up over the sea Chelsea and Vaughn rose, rising with the sun and with obvious reluctance, before beginning to walk towards the entrance to the beach. Vaughn found himself smiling at the pair of red boots that had sometime throughout their chat found their way back onto her feet; back to where they belonged. Even if they were only a small part of who Chelsea was and what she stood for, he'd missed those cute little red boots all the same. They were familiar; insignificant yet fairly close to his heart. It had been awhile since anything, even something as silly as a pair of worn out, mud stained, scuffed little red rubber rain boots had gotten so close to his guarded soul.

Stopping at the fork in the path where their paths parted, the two stood in an awkward silence for some time as if to gather up their goodbyes in their heads. To Vaughn, goodbye had seemed so far away until this instant. It was almost painful, yet surreal and beautiful as the rising sun cast a soft glow over the dewy grass and her soft ivory complexion. Chelsea and he both looked visibly sadder than before, as if already missing the time they'd spent together, and shared occasional glances with each other as if to communicate that fact. With a smile, Chelsea finally sighed and reached up to gently slap Vaughn's upper arm in a friendly and playful gesture. Whereas normally such a familiar gesture would repulse Vaughn from someone he'd only truly known a few hours, he found himself fond of the small, simple show of affection and offered his own small grin in return.

"I'm glad we both happened to be sleepless at the same time, Vaughn. You're a lot nicer than you seemed when I first 'sort of' met you. Do you...think we could be friends from now on?" she asked, her eyes shining with hope and determination as she looked up into his. Vaughn wasn't familiar with the idea of friendship, let alone companionship in general, but never had someone so plainly asked and seemed to generally want to be near to him. The idea made him happy in a way he'd never really been able to grasp in his hands, like water slipping through his hands even when he was sure there was no gap between his fingers for it to fall through. And so without even slight hesitation he reached up and ruffled her long chestnut brown tresses, inwardly surprised by how smooth and silky her hair felt under his rough, working man's fingertips. The smell of milk and honey wafted up into the air with every movement of his hand in her brown locks, be it her natural scent or her shampoo he wasn't sure but he was thankful for it all the same. In response she giggled, a smile on her lips, and swatted his hand away with a warm glow on her cheeks.

"Yeah. See you later?" he asked, grinning down at her as she was a very small girl. Had she been anyone else, anyone else at all, he would never have allowed himself that simple show of emotion. He'd have steeled himself, nodded or grunted, been inwardly happy but not enough to show it on his countenance. Yet with her it came without thought, without premeditation, and he found himself so lost in the action itself that he didn't register the slight crinkling at the corners of his eyes or the warm and furnace like feeling snaking and spreading its way further in his chest. She seemed to brighten, rivaling the sun in his eyes, and began to bounce on the balls of her heels as if years younger than she was.

"Really? Thank you, Vaughn." she'd said merrily, like the tinkling of bells, but then in a smaller voice muttered "N-nobody here seems to want me around, so...thank you. Really." Her smile turned sad then, and from what he'd seen from the villagers he'd usually be surprised and disagree with her statement. But after seeing the look on Mirabelle's face the day previous, he couldn't find it in him to be doubt her words. He was angry then; could feel the burning tremor of madness in his body and the lump of red-hot iron in his throat slowly sliding down to his stomach, but remembered with a start of pure self loathing and agony that he too had originally thought her a pest.

_A nuisance. Annoying, unnecessary, not needed. A waste of space and oxygen and life._

And now the thought of never having met her; never having been able to stand here with her now bathed in the honey glow of dawn, never having been able to see those already beautiful stormy eyes come to life and intensify in beauty because of **_him_**, made his heart throb painfully in his ribcage as if someone wrapped their hands around it and just squeezed for all they were worth.

"Don't listen to them. I like having you around." He'd replied in a soft, caring whisper; doing everything in his power not to blush at the words as he spoke them. They were honest, blunt, and not as articulate as most people would expect or favor. They were embarrassing to hear, let alone say. Most women would be taken aback by his unpoetic, unromantic way with words. In fact, they were a little more forward than Vaughn was comfortable with. Vaughn prided himself on being enigmatic, cool, stoic and emotionless. He wasn't a man of many words. Yet, she seemed to understand from the beginning even as they'd only just started talking, that Vaughn wasn't a talkative or clear speaker. And she seemed to warm to that side of him, as if that side of him wasn't a flaw or a curse. She accepted how words for what they really meant, not what they masqueraded as, and smiled appreciatively up at him as if his simple words had spoken paragraphs to her ever-aware ears. And as quickly as his self-aware, conscious, guarded self had come back to life it was again replaced by this pathetic, glowing, happy mess of a man that he didn't really recognize.

_Yet even as he thought things like "pathetic; mushy; sappy", they were overpowered simply by "__**alive**__; happy; easy."_

"Thanks Vaughn. I really needed to hear that from someone, and I'm glad it was you. I have to get back to my farm now and get back to work, so see you later okay?" she'd said, then turning she yelled over her shoulder a short "Bye!"

He simply grunted a goodbye at her, waving slightly at her retreating form even thought she didn't look. He could figure by now that she probably knew without actually seeing, being it that she really seemed to understand him and his tendencies. As her profile disappeared into the farm entrance, a flurry of brown hair and ivory skin, he found himself already missing her warmth beside him. Then, just like a snail, having spent it's time outside and having no other reason to remain exposed to the predators of its world, he retreated back into his shell and wrapped himself back up in the protective façade of the cold, cool, emotionless, enigmatic, and definitely not weak or vulnerable cowboy. Just like a snail, he retreated into his shell. But even then, as he turned with an emotionless and uncaring look about him, he felt something in him changing; his shell cracking just slightly.

**_Deep in his chest, something started to move for the first time in 11 years._**


End file.
